Hurts Like Heaven
by Meowbowwow
Summary: How does John get over Sherlock's death? He doesn't. Loads of angst. Smut. OMC.


I lay him down on the bed, he wasn't pale, I couldn't do pale anymore, I couldn't even look at the moon or the milky sky of the early morning for the salmon bled out into red and I found myself at places I dare not visit. He wasn't pale but oh, he was beautiful. In my haze of words, of blinding screams and crimson lights blaring behind my eyelids, in my bone crushing consciousness of this final surrender of self, I still knew that he was beautiful. His camel coloured skin stretched over the ivory grey sheets and there was this aching imperfection to it, something that made you sigh against the skin and feel the salt of it trickle deep inside your bones till you didn't recognise the taste of your own blood anymore.

"Is this what you are doing, then?" I realised that I'd said some of my thoughts aloud, but I noticed that his voice could have been _his_ though, it was deep but there was something missing, there was everything missing, the slight amusement that cut me into ribbons and almost tilted the corners of my mouth upwards. It didn't have that edge of a challenge in every statement, that little quirk of a teacher as he made a mockery of everything, that steadiness that came with years of practice and control. It didn't have that carefree trust that threw his head back as he chuckled at something I had said. No, the voice neither.

"I don't know," I ran my fingers in the too short hair, blonde like mine but cropped, severely, but I could tell that they would be golden and soft if they were long, flowing and I rubbed my thumb affectionately over his scalp, bringing it down to the back of his skull and tracing my index finger over his jaw only to rest lightly on his jugular vein, losing myself to the wan darkness again, expecting those thin lips to murmur not words of love but facts pulled straight out of an encyclopaedia. My disappointment must have been palpable for he moved his head to face me, perhaps it had been hanging in the air since I had pulled him towards me at the bar, my hands resting lightly on his waist as I whispered the words in his ears and he nodded with that strange glint in those hazel eyes that shall always make me smirk and shudder in their mere memory.

My thumb ghosted over a mole on his shoulder, I touched it, covering it with my mouth and ran a wet trail around it, the motion seemed to please him and it calmed me enough to gently lower myself and kiss it. As I felt his hands moving around me, trying to hold me, caress my back, run around inside my very skin, I froze. I couldn't help it, I tried to suck on that mole to distract myself but the hands seemed to hang indecisively over my waist and then flopped back on the bed. I sighed, in relief or pain, I knew not.

My tongue tried to lick the olive skin into bleached marble, I bit at the point where his shoulder met his neck and he moaned, fisting his hands on the sheet and granting me more access. His moans and whimpers filled my head, forming a wall around the screams, there was so much noise around me, inside me that I could hear nothing, no thoughts or sound could permeate this headiness. And it was exhilarating. I bit harder, drawing blood and then licked it soothingly, blowing over it lightly and biting again as the body seemed to ease into the comfort of my warm breaths.

As he squirmed under me, I realised that I didn't even know his name, Jack, Dave, Oliver, something, I sucked on my thumb and he looked hungrily at my mouth, it gave me some perverse pleasure to hollow my lips as I sucked on it, his eyes went wide, wider as I put the other thumb in. I imagined myself to look quite comical and almost laughed but one look at his face and the flush rising up his neck told me a different story. As a last taunt to him, or maybe myself, I brought them out with a pop and rubbed them over his dark nipples, he closed his eyes and arched his back as I straddled him and let him rock under me. As I closed my mouth over the left one, knowing it to be more sensitive from the low stream of curses that reached my ears, I reminisced about another's right. No curses there, just a low "oh John..." that was a sigh that was still floating in the air around me, it helped me stay. I moved my mouth around the puckered flesh and let my tongue wriggle over it, just the tip flicking it over and over till the voice begged for mercy, begged for me to never stop and again, I yearned for that decisive tug that yanked my head back and warned me with lust addled grey eyes to stop it, that kissed the very tastes out of my mouth as it ravaged it, unfettered and unhindered by anything.

This mouth didn't kiss, that had been the one condition. One breach I wouldn't allow, some other day perhaps, when the lows got too deep to take and the sink too comfortable to fight. I sucked on the other one harder and bit it and was rewarded by the most primal of sounds and animal rutting. The skin my thighs touched was warm but I still yearned for the one with the worst of blood circulations I had ever seen, the one that was cold, the one whose owner never rutted because the restrain turned him on. I shook myself from my own thoughts by making the sucking more audible and withdrawing with a smile at the disappointed mewl that the olive body uttered.

I kissed a trail down his toned abdomen, no concave there. I reminisced again, continuing to kiss as I ran my hands to the velvet sides, trying to understand what binded me to something I was trying so hard to run away from. Maybe we'd grown, spines into rib cages, skins cloaked over, thoughts barred from thoughts, windows in mind that open only one way, escalators and veins. Maybe, we were as damaged as we ever were, broken and ego drowned, gasping for appreciation, giving up on virginal criticisms. But maybe, just maybe, we'd stayed, fixed in time, a fact in the ever changing universe, a fixed point in all the dimensions, stagnant and unchanged, black as the skies beyond this sky.

I didn't know what was worse. Me or _him. _Me or him.

His cock was hot, throbbing under me, I almost hissed as our naked skins touched each other, it wasn't like soothing rains on parched fields but perhaps acid on marble, decaying it slowly, Taj Mahal reduced to what it really is - a tombstone. His cock that ached for me to touch, begged for me, filled me with a false sense of jubilation as hollow as the place it had taken refuge in - my heart. And yet, I couldn't help but remember a longer and darker one I had traced with my tongue, one with dark hair at the root instead of these blonde ones, the one that went inside my mouth and tormented my throat till I gave it one long, teasing suck, took a drag and filled myself up, smiling lecherously at the debauched owner. This one, I kissed once on the head, it was a slightly different taste, musky and more masculine instead of the spice & cinnamon one I was used to. I traced the vein with a single broad swipe of my tongue and felt the shivers against my skin. The smell of musk grew in the air and in one go, I had it in me, heavy over my tongue, salty and tangy. I hummed as it hit the back of my throat and almost gagged as it pushed in with a gasp, claiming but not quite, wanting but not yet.

"Would you get up, fuck my mouth?" I took it out and lay flat on my back, not waiting for the response as I let my head hang from the edge, giving the perfect angle. _He_ had almost died when I had suggested this and kissed me senseless till I forgot my own name. This one, however, seemed intrigued and aroused at the idea as he put his feet on either side of my chest and pushed into my waiting mouth, harder and faster, grunting and loving the warmth as I tried to hollow my cheeks as much as I could, to give him friction. As his head hit the back of my throat again and again, scraping through the roof of my mouth, I drew back, struck by a brilliant idea.

"Fuck me." It wasn't a question but an order, a welcome order perhaps because he smiled wickedly at me and I could read all his thoughts for I had had the same ones once. He wanted to see me, this man of stone, lose control. I quietly cheered him on in my heart, wanting to see the same in myself, any trace of life in me, even broken and raped.

As he squirted the lube on his hands and coated his fingers, I looked up at him and realised what he was doing. "No, I don't need any preparation."

"But this will really hurt otherwise!" he looked confused, searching my face for a hint of a kink, a fetish which would help validate his own.  
"I like the pain," I gave him a smile that he returned, albeit being still confused a bit but not giving it more than a thought. They never did.

He lubed himself up & pushed me on my stomach, entering slowly but I pushed back, impaling myself on him and biting the mattress at the sting and the terrible pain. He took my muffled grunt of pain as a moan of need. I let him.  
"Faster, harder!" I growled and he obliged. He fucked me hard, the slap of skin lewd and filthy, egging me on, my eyes streamed from the pain and my insides were turning into mush as he moved in and out without any mercy, enjoying his ultimate dominance over me. This was my ultimate tribute, no one but this stranger had been inside me, not even him, we had waited trying to ease me into it and the wait had been far too long. As he was coming, he got hold of my erection and I came after a few half-hearted pumps, not even realising that I had been hard for so long. He came with a scream and rode the shocks of it as he rocked inside me. I knew the pain wouldn't kill me and I wiped that one treacherous tear on the sheets before helping him ease out of me.

He panted, trying to get his breath back. I'd lost mine a while back and was still waiting to find it, so I let my lungs do their monotonous work.

"You are punishing yourself, aren't you?" The cover of lust blown, he was a pretty nice guy, caring, that hint of worry in his voice that clawed at my senses and made me want to push him out of bed. I didn't reply, there wasn't any need to. Moreover, I feared that my shaking voice would give me away.

"Enough punishment then?" his voice wasn't unkind and I smiled, in spite of myself, turning around to look at him. He bent his head forward and ran his thumb over my cheekbones, leaning in to kiss and realising at the last second what he was doing, so he got my cheek and planted a soft kiss on it. I knew it before I did it, it rose like an ache in my chest and I pulled him forward, crushing our lips together in a heated kiss, he melted right inside my mouth and let my tongue shove and push at him, let me bite at his lip, our teeth clicking and tongues almost wrestling against each other till we were gasping for air. His mouth looked swollen and I could taste blood in mine, I gulped the ache down my throat and smiled again, plastic and broken amply, enough to last some night, at least.

"Yes, now."

He didn't say anything and I just lay there, feeling boneless and suffering the pain pangs, the soreness was everywhere and I could feel the blood between my legs. Soon, I heard him get up and get his clothes from the floor, the rustle of fabric rocked me to sleep as he closed the door softly behind him and murmured something I didn't catch.

And then I cried, quietly at first, howling into my hands later as I ticked off the dates in my mind - 91 days since Sherlock had been dead.

**NOTE**

**The title comes from Coldplay's song.**

**Please let me know if you find any errors, constructive criticism is appreciated because this is my first piece of angst (if you can classify it as angst, that is). I hope you like it.**

**This one's written for life-as-an-angel-condom|tumblr who's the angst queen of the fandom**

**xoxo**

**Meow**


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